As he walked away he again examined the riding-whip. 'It isn't often a
thing happens so luckily,' he said to himself. 'First-rate whip; hardly a
bit damaged. Harry'll like it none the worse for my having handselled it.'
At the station he found Mr. Daffy and Bowles, who regarded him with
questioning looks.
'Nothing to be got out of him,' said Mr. Lott. 'Bowles, I want a talk with
you and Jane; it'll be best, perhaps, if I go back home with you. Mr.
Daffy, sorry we can't travel down together. You'll catch the eight
o'clock.'
'I hope you told him plainly what you thought of him,' said Mr. Daffy, in a
voice of indignant shame.
'I did,' answered the timber-merchant, 'and I don't think he's very likely
to forget it.'
FATE AND THE APOTHECARY
'Farmiloe. Chemist by Examination.' So did the good man proclaim himself to
a suburb of a city in the West of England. It was one of those pretty,
clean, fresh-coloured suburbs only to be found in the west; a few dainty
little shops, everything about them bright or glistening, scattered among
pleasant little houses with gardens eternally green and all but perennially
in bloom; every vista ending in foliage, and in one direction a far glimpse
of the Cathedral towers, sending forth their music to fall dreamily upon
these quiet roads.
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